Doggone it!

Over the weekend, I taught at a Women's Retreat at Hidden Acres Christian Camp outside of Dayton, Iowa.  When I was teaching about #WhosTheBoss, I used an illustration that I had gleaned a few years ago (when I was at wit's end with my naughty puppy) from an online dog trainer called Doggy Dan.  As I was going through the list of training rules on Doggy Dan's website, I was struck by how applicable they were to me when I visualized God as the Master and me as...ahem...the dog. 

Read on for the training rules:

1. Feeding: The dog needs to know that you control the food and will give it when he needs it.  

So, how exactly does this relate to me?  I am able to get my own food pretty much anytime I want and sometimes when I don't even need it.  But, when Psalm 145:15-16 says, "The eyes of all look to you,  and you give them their food at the proper time. You open your hand and satisfy the desires of every living thing," I'm fairly certain, God is not just promising to feed us physically.  In fact, Philippians 4:19 tells us that God has promised to supply all of our needs according to his riches in glory.  This means that, in the same way that my dog needs to trust that I will give him his breakfast in the morning and his supper at night, I need to trust that God will give whatever I need whenever I need it.  Trusting God also means that I will choose NOT to worry about what he is or is not going to give..."Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?"  (Matthew 6:25-26) . If we could see our future clearly and where each and every situation would take us, we wouldn’t need to trust God or make him Boss.

   

2. Danger: Always remain calm and relaxed and let your dog know that you will protect him in the event of danger.  This way your dog will learn to trust your judgment.  

If my dog chooses to disobey me, distrust me, or generally ignore me, I cannot properly protect him from danger--or give him good things. In the same way, if we have chosen to make God our Master, we are eternally secure; our inheritance sure.  If we truly believe that God is, indeed, sovereign, we will trust his judgment on what is good for us.  Nothing takes God by surprise ever!  When we are undone by tests and trials, it is because we are not fully resting in God's protective care.  First Peter 4:12-13 says, "Dear friends, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that has come on you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice inasmuch as you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when his glory is revealed."  As Christ-followers, we should expect that this life will include suffering, but we can also be assured that our eternity will be full of joy!

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3.  Everything on Your Terms: You should initiate everything. Watch out for attention-getting or space-invading.

Oftentimes, when my dog wants me to pay attention to him, he will put his paws (and his sharp claws) on my leg so I will play with him.  He will continue to do this over and over until I reprimand him.  We do this with God too.  No, we don't have paws, and we don't ask God to "play" with us, but we do enter into his presence with our own agenda and seeking our own glory.  And sometimes, we forget that God is our real Master, and we fill his place with selfish ambition.  When we replace God's glory with our own, or put others/things/experiences on his throne, we are inverting his God-ordained order and operating outside of his boundaries.  Isaiah 46:9 speaks for God and says, "I am God and there is no other.  I am God and there is none like me." Those are the terms God has designed and since he "is in the Heavens, [he] does whatever pleases him." (Psalm 115:3).

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4. The Walk:  Do not move until the lead is loose and your dog is calm.  If your dog is pulling you, turn around.  

Mostly, I don't walk my dog on a leash since we live by the woods where he can freely run.  But, sometimes, when I need to take him somewhere that a leash is required, he tries really hard to be in charge--pulling so hard that he actually cuts off his supply of oxygen.  I am not so unlike my dog.  Guess what? God will choose to accomplish his purposes in spite of us if we, like my dog, think we can walk ourselves.  But, if we remain calm, not "tugging on the lead," then God can accomplish his purposes through us!  Amazing!  When my dog pulls on the rope, he is only hurting himself; when I do the same, I am acting like I know better than God.  I have found a couple of verses that help me remember what my attitude and actions are supposed to look like when I feel my "walk" is not to my liking; Psalm 131:2 "But I have calmed and quieted myself, I am like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child I am content."

But, you know what? Even when we act like our silly pups, we aren't in the "doghouse" with our merciful Master; God still lavishly loves us and wants us show it by letting him lead.  And he tells us that, " In him and through faith in him we may approach God with freedom and confidence " (Ephesians 3:12) because he thinks we are the "pick of the litter!"  

         

Amen and Amen.

“God is too good to be unkind and he’s too wise to be mistaken.  And when we cannot trace his hand, we must trust his heart.”  

~Charles Spurgeon

A Very Long Walk in May, Chapter 12

Wednesday, May 31st, 2017    Day 17.  It's the last day of May, and now, the last full day of our trip. I am happy and sad about that. I will explain: Today was beautiful, warm, and sunny. I have waited so long for a day like this! We got up early and hiked by ourselves, and I kept feeling like I was last and everyone else was faster and better. By lunchtime I was feeling so bad, I wanted to talk about it with everyone. I am such an outsider with the three of them since the boys arrived. Now I’m sorry I spoke up because Brent suggested that we could all be done tomorrow. Everyone eventually agreed to this plan, probably as a result of my other little breakdown yesterday. Now I'm sad and it is anti-climactic because we are deciding to cut the trip short and go—by shuttle-- to Duluth for a few days. Was I wrong to voice my opinion, God? Help me to fully reconcile everything.

Sunshine and Self-Loathing

We awoke to sunshine today and hiked alone until lunchtime.  While I tried desperately to keep up, I kept rehashing how incredibly inept I was. It was super hard for me to have the rest of my crew hiking fast and furiously, leaving me in the dust mud; I was still so slow. Since the guys arrived, I had felt like the odd man out; Brent was the obvious leader; he hikes heartily, he tells better stories, and he doesn’t hyperventilate when he crosses narrow ravines or wades through rivers.  He is just tougher.  I felt tougher when it was just Tess and I.  Now I felt weak. 

The truth of the matter wasn’t that I didn’t fit in with the rest of them (although that’s how it felt); it was that my goals still differed from theirs.  I just wanted to hike and enjoy the sunshine and smell the air and revel in the blue sky.  Making up mileage was so unimportant to me. I kept telling myself that things would have been much better if the guys hadn’t joined us because then I would still have a buddy--Tess--who would have lots of grace with me.  I took it so personally.  I do things like that.

But it wasn’t personal at all.  Brent, Cole and Tess were joyful in their fast hiking.  Covering lots of miles with lots of energy made them happy.  They had no ill will, as I had imagined.  I, and my rogue emotions, was actually the one at fault.  If I had just accepted that my style was different, but okay, I would have enjoyed my trip--and especially this day--so much more. And I wouldn’t have worried so incessantly about “fitting in.” However, because I was enveloped in my pitiful self-loathing, when we stopped for lunch I was in tears.  (I had been so stoic for the entire trip…until the guys arrived.  When they showed up, I became a crybaby. Go figure.) Brent, trying to fix the problem and extinguish my fits of temperament, suggested we wrap up our trip early, call a shuttle for the next day, and spend the rest of our allotted time happily visiting Duluth. At his suggestion, I felt simultaneously remorseful and relieved; I could actually be done with this incredibly exhausting challenge! But, at the same time, finishing the trip tomorrow would also mean the end of a unique bonding time with Tess doing something we would probably--hopefully--never do again. We decided to think on it as we hiked that afternoon.

Brent and fast team member, Tess, escaping my lunchtime tears by locating a beautiful waterfall.

When we found our campsite later that day, we set up our tents as fast as possible because the mosquitoes had awakened from a long winter’s nap. The sun was marvelous, but it brought forth these miniature ravenous beasts that, because of our hypothermia, we had forgotten existed.  We tried to wash up in the river, thinking it was probably our putridness drawing them in, but the water only attracted them to us. We dunked quickly and ran back to our tents to escape their torment. 

 Since we needed to discuss the uncertain future of our hike, we all piled into the girls’ tent to have a serious talk. “Piling in” is literal here; keep in mind that our tent is very small--with barely enough room for Tess and I and our dog--and now we had invited two huge men into it for a conference.  It was nearly impossible to fit, and we had to sit at odd angles to make it work, but at this point, with the murderous mosquitoes buzzing at our zipped screens and sounding like millions of tiny grenades aiming upon our roof, we were willing to try.  As we munched on our pre-meal licorice, we analyzed the achievability of our original goal.  We had nearly 40 miles remaining and only two days left before Tess had to return to Iowa City to start preparing for her new job. Trying to hike 20 miles for the next two days seemed insurmountable to me, and we conversed about letting Cole and Tess go it alone while Brent and I hailed a cab to Duluth.  We finally vetoed this plan—at least the parental cab part—and wanted to stay all together.  Not being able to reconcile the details with the remaining time we had, we all voted that tomorrow would be our final day.  Realizing that the die had been cast (and I was the one who had thrown it), I started to cry (yet again) and to apologize for my all my weaknesses (I have a very guilty concience). Tess, normally stoic herself, also shed tears knowing that this goal—to thru hike the entire SHT--would remain unfulfilled, at least for now.  The guys seemed mostly unfazed by our final declaration because they were newbies to the game; sore, tired, and, now, bug bitten.  But, for me, and for Tess, I think, our decision to “quit” felt a bit like a failure.  We had planned a trip, pursued a goal, and now were giving it up.  If I had not been present on that day, I think the others would have chosen to push through--doing back-breaking mileage for the remainder of the hike--to finish the course.  I was unable to do this.

Suppertime arrived and we attempted to make a fire to fend of the mosquitoes, but all we could make is smoke which made us smell like a campfire. The bugs seemed unaffected by our efforts and our new scent.  So, we quickly cooked our food and then hopped in our tents to eat and finally sleep.  It was an unromantic finale to our unromantic journey.

I may look happy here but I am actually delirious because of the mosquitoes. Cole choose to wear a full headscarf to stave off the tiny demons.

The End is Near
The next morning, Tess and I tried to be cheerful even though we were both feeling down.  We packed up our tent for the very last time, and we gathered our still-wet laundry from the trees.  We put our very familiar packs on our backs and tied our ever-muddy shoes.  We trekked to the river to wash oatmeal out of our permanently dirty dishes, and watched for the last time as Jet smelled each and every tiny pine tree on the well worn trail.  It was all bittersweet.

And then we were off, hiking together as if all was well and we were tackling another day on the SHT.  But, we weren’t facing another day of hiking; we were simply finding our way to the nearest trailhead where we would call a shuttle (Harriet didn’t come this far down) and ask for a lift into Duluth.  It only took us a couple of creek crossings and two hours to find our pick-up spot, where we sat waiting for transport.  Lost in my thoughts, I sat in the shrubbery feeling sad about the whole thing. Tess also sat sullenly looking at a rock she had found. Cole wandered around swatting mosquitoes and trying to eat as many of his remaining snacks as possible, and Brent walked in the middle of the dusty road attempting to find adequate internet so he could check his email.  Soon, an older gentleman arrived in a white minivan and unceremoniously told us to load up our stuff. We did this and then hopped in the vehicle for an hour long ride into the city. 

Our trip was done.  

Our adventure completed.

Waiting in the shrubbery on our last hiking day. Contrary to popular belief, Tess is NOT wearing Minnie Mouse ears here.  It is an optical illusion.

As we checked into a hotel in Duluth, took hot showers, and ate outside in the sun at a cute Mexican cantina, I started to come to terms with it all; we had probably done the right thing.  We ended our journey while we were still healthy, happy, and only partially devoured by biting insects. And sleeping in a bed sounded pretty fantastic.  However, I was still haunted that my lack of "grit” had ruined our trip. But my sweet family put me at ease; the day after our arrival in Duluth, while Cole and I went to soak in the hot tub, Brent and Tess went out to explore. They returned from their excursion with a Minnesota T-shirt for me and a garage sale stuffed animal for Jet.  Jet felt very loved by their thoughtfulness, and I, by their patience and grace.  They stuck with me because they love me. That was the true story.

The Very Long Walk in May had come to an end on June 1 and we left for home on the 2nd, a day before our 28th wedding anniversary. What a learning experience the very long walk had been, but what a true gift it was to be done!*

Brent found a friendly moose in Duluth.  Jet is less than impressed.

Cole posing as our bodyguard while exploring a lighthouse on Lake Superior. 

*This is NOT the end of my story.  There is still one more chapter to write.  I thought it only appropriate that this little book have 13 chapters. Keep watch and be comforted that I mostly stopped crying and finally figured out what the angst was all about.  Stay tuned for the final chapter: Lessons Learned on A Very Long Walk in May…coming soon!

A Very Long Walk in May, Chapter 10

A chilly supper with one of the two trip crashers

Trip Crashers

After the first full day with Brent and Cole, Tess and I felt like they had commandeered our trip.  We had created our own cadence of existence in the last two weeks, just the two of us; when the guys came on the scene, they decided to run the show--choosing how far to hike, when to stop for meals, and what time to break camp in the mornings--NOT cool. When we arrived at our campsite that day, we found a fire pit surrounded with benches; and on the benches were a package of dried apricots, a can of roasted almonds, a bag of trail mix, and a portion of salami--all unopened! Apparently someone was trying to lighten their pack and decided to leave us some goodies!  We were thrilled and hoped that they weren’t bait left by a crazy person who wanted to poison us (Gino, anyone?).  Because we were hungry, we assumed that the majority of hikers are not murderers, and we tore open a few of the packages.  (We all woke up in the morning, so our assumption was luckily accurate.)  After the snack surprise, we had to climb a little incline to set up our tents for the night.  You would have thought that small hill was Everest by the way the guys complained.  When they finally made it and clumsily set up their tent, and after Jet had tripped (multiple times) over the staking ropes, making it crash down on them, they both climbed in--full of mud--and told us that they couldn’t move. Tess and I choose to ignore their groanings, but we did bring hot drinks to their tent--after we had gone up and down the hill several times--to show that we weren’t completely without compassion. We then proceeded to cook our supper, and the guys eventually joined us on the benches until it was time to go back to our tents to sleep.

Tess and I still shared our tiny vinyl home each night (where we could commiserate about our “guests”), which was good since the guys kept rehearsing how sore they were, how much they stunk, and how much Cole’s very voluminous snack bag weighed.  Every night previous, Tess and I would talk about the day, tick check one another * (the ticks were thick), and drift off to sleep in our cozy sleeping bags--it was the same this night, except that we made a pact to voice our frustrations to the guys; the next day at lunch, we decided to broach the topic of trip-crashing.

We found this shallower, calmer portion of the river after our traumatic traversing

A River Runs Through It

We rose with the sun the following morning--Memorial Day-- because the “guys said” we needed to be on the trail by 7 am.  And by 7:01 pm, I had been passed three times--even by my ally--because everyone wanted to “hike alone.”  This hiking alone thing was not good for me, especially now when I was feeling patronized by the rest of the group.  But hike alone I did, shedding some “no one likes me” tears along the way.  I knew this mantra really wasn’t true, but my feelings were being very loud and convincing, and I was having trouble coming to terms with my inability to hike fast.  The others all seemed driven to cover lots of miles, and I was afraid of losing my partner to “the dark side.” The lunch hour finally arrived, and I knew it would be at least another 30 minutes until I found our agreed upon meeting spot. This meant the guys and Tess would have to wait on the “slow one.”  It didn’t help that the signage for the trail was unclear and that I spent at least 15 minutes hiking in the wrong direction before I figured out my mistake. When I finally caught up with them, they said, “We thought you got lost” in seemingly concerned voices, but they couldn’t have been so concerned because no one thought to check on me before that.  (End of rant)

When we sat down to a lunch of homemade hummus and Triscuits, I wondered if Tess was still my buddy and if she would stick to our agreement.  She did, and we told the guys that we felt like they had hijacked our trip by arriving and taking over. They saw how we could feel that way, and said they hadn’t meant to interfere; from now on, they promised, they would try harder not to be so “in charge.” Sensing that I had a captive audience at this point, I spoke up, trying to keep my voice steady, and said, “And please, please, don’t make me hike all alone.”  They agreed that someone would stay with me, and that when we hiked as a group they would put me in front.  All of this was considerate, but I still felt degraded because I couldn’t keep up even when I gave my best effort.  I was the proverbial “fat kid” on the track team, whom everyone cheers for but no one wants to be.  I decided that this was my lot in life because when one is tired and cold and has been hiking for 15 days in the wilderness, one sometimes makes things bigger than they actually are.

As I led the group along the trail, I noticed a sign that said, “Bridge ahead: washed out. Redirect your route.”  When I showed this to Brent, he said, “I think that’s an old sign. They probably have fixed it by now.” Apparently he had forgotten that it was May in Northern Minnesota and no fixing had been happening in the dead of winter (which lasts until May as Tess and I discovered).  So, we went on, expecting either to find a new bridge, or to be able to cross the river on foot.  When we came to the point where the bridge should have been, there was a platform on either side of the river, but no middle; the bridge had most definitely washed away.  As I stood looking at the frigid thigh-high river raging past me, I said in my scariest voice, “I AM NOT crossing that river!  We have to find another way!”  But, just as on other backpacking trips where I have refused to go any further, I ended up being convinced to persevere through my panicked hyperventilation, because it would take “too much extra time” to go around.  This argument never is very convincing for me since we are hiking and have nothing else on our agenda.  So, there I was, timidly stepping into the freezing river from one slippery rock to another, as the rapids raced past me.  Brent had stationed himself in the middle, where the water was up to his knees, so I knew it would be higher on me. He said, “it’s not that bad, just go slowly and I will help you across.” Again, the kids both passed me like it was no big deal to cross a running river with a 30 pound pack, and they stood on the other shore cheering for the fat kid.  Since I had the dog, I held his leash tightly and encouraged him to join me in the water.  Being a smart dog, he thought it a very bad idea and firmly stationed himself in the dry brush alongside the riverbed. I gave Brent the leash and he tugged Jet into the river, but having no footing, the dog slipped and started being pulled down the rapids.  I screamed, the dog cried out, and I was sure he was a goner.  Brent lunged over and grabbed him by the collar and gingerly walked him to the other shore where the kids were watching and waiting. I was still standing just a few feet from the near shore and I had one of those “I will have to stand here forever because I can’t move” moments. So, willing myself onward, I thought of Hugh Glass in the movie “The Revenant” who pulled himself miles across the ice after being partially eaten by a bear, and I slowly made it to the far shore where my family was waiting for me.  The river crossing experience didn’t really improve my mood much, nor did it make me very happy with our new hiking partners.  

We still hiked as a group after this, but I was feeling pretty spent as we trudged, completely soaked, through the now-very-familiar soul-sucking mud.  Since our next stop was to be Gooseberry Falls State Park, I tried to convince the other family members that it would be a good time to rent a tent site and call it a (traumatic) day. They told me I would feel better about everything when we stopped there for a rest and a snack.  I was pretty sure they were wrong.

Gooseberry Falls Fallout

Gooseberry Falls is apparently very popular on Memorial Day and the huge visitors center was teaming with people.  Some of these people brought their dogs, and Jet was very happy to see them.  Other people brought their cats on leashes. I am not kidding.  And Jet was even happier to see them.  

After we snacked and shivered and watched the interesting assortment of people that had commenced upon that site, I went to the information desk to see if they had any tent spots open for the night--just in case.  They did.

When I mentioned this “stopping for the day” idea to the others, it was not well received.  It was still fairly early in the day, they said, and if we hiked a little longer--maybe only 2 or 3 more hours!--we might have a chance of making up some mileage so we could actually hike into Duluth as planned.  I really didn’t care about making it into Duluth, knowing that our friend, Harriet, would gladly rescue us.  Obviously, at this point, I was thinking only of myself, and I pulled the “You guys don’t care about me” card. They glumly relented, and we paid the fee for a tent pad.  While walking to the camping spot, however, we all got in a big argument because we had taken the wrong path and traveled the opposite way, and “with all that walking, we could have been a long ways down the trail.”  So much for peace.  After our tents were staked, though, and the promise of a hot shower loomed, spirits lifted and we decided to be nice to each other.  We ate our supper, found a site with a little wifi available and got a message from Shay who was in China on a mission trip.  She said she could talk to us on Skype if we could find adequate Internet.  We walked to a sort of clubhouse and were able to see her on the screen of one of our phones!  What a gift that was to us after such a hard and divisive day!  It was the first time I had spoken to her since she left the states over two weeks earlier.  Seeing her, and hearing my family laugh together, was balm to my tired and worn spirit.  

Monday, May 29th, 2018  Day 15.  We are staying in a campsite at Gooseberry Falls State Park tonight. Everyone else wanted to go farther, but I was exhausted so we stopped here. A hot shower is always a welcome treat. Lots of mud and a scary river crossing today. I am continually amazed that I can't keep pace with all of them and it is so frustrating to me that I am so slow. I like it when they hike with me, but hate it when they put me in front because I know I am slowing them down. They are all so driven to cover lots of miles. Why? I am giving it my full effort but still, they outpace me.I am praying for your help with a good attitude, God. Clear my head.

* One morning, before we got out of our tent, I pulled out a tiny mirror that I used occasionally to get a bug out of my eye or to see how I had aged on our trip thus far.  Normally, we would go days without seeing ourselves--which made us discuss how differently people thought of themselves--and how much less self-focused they most probably were--when mirrors weren’t yet common.  This time, when viewing my face in the mirror, I noticed a large tick on my right lower cheek.  I pulled it off and threw it outside.  I asked Tess why she hadn’t removed it during our many tick check appointments, and she said, “ I just thought you had a big mole that I had never noticed before.”